


Ardently

by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: Barebacking, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k8andrewz/pseuds/Kate%20Andrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who does that? Who gives a guy a list of baby names before he's knocked her daughter up, let alone gotten married? Who says you even see yourself having kids?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ardently

**Author's Note:**

> I binged on LBD last night, through the latest chapter (98). *flails at them*. This story came out today.

"Oh my Gooooood," Lizzie said, letting the last word draw out, long and ragged, into a groan as she settled in the leather passenger seat beside him. With a theatrical flourish, she threw an arm up to cover her eyes and let out another elaborate noise of embarrassment. As she did so, the ruffled hem of her white and teal sundress slid up her leg. 

He allowed himself three full seconds to drink in that glimpse of creamy thigh before swallowing to clear his throat. "I don't believe it was quite *that* bad." 

"Just drive," she said into the crook of her elbow, before letting her arm drop with a dramatic thud and staring at the ceiling with exaggerated angst. When he didn't move to insert the key, she said with a smirk, "Chop chop, Jeeves. The Daily Show waits for no man."

"As you wish, ma'am." As he reached across her and took hold of the seat belt, then carefully stretched the strap across her and connected it to the buckle with a click, he noted the tiniest twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Before he could pull away (or lean in to capture that twitch with his lips), she caught his tie, right below the knot, and pulled him closer. 

"My mother," she started, her breath tickling his face. She smelled like the triple chocolate monstrosity she'd devoured with the help of both her sisters. The sight had reminded him of nothing so much as a pack of lions on the Serengeti. "Is like genetically incapable of subtlety. I can totally understand if she's blown any desire you ever had to breed *period*, let alone with me." 

He kissed the corner of her mouth and let it linger as she continued to speak. 

"I am so, so sorry you had to go through that."

"It's more than all right," he murmured against her cheek. 

"Doesn't she know that the more crazy she displays while *interrogating* you on your plans for children, the less likely you are to want to take a dip in our illustrious gene pool."

"It wasn't that bad." He drifted his kisses down the pale column of her throat as he brought a hand up to the tiny pearl buttons that ran all the way up to her collarbone. Too many buttons, he thought, blood roaring in his ears. He fiddled with the first one until he slipped it from its delicate little silk loop, then another, then another until he could peel back the dress just enough to catch a glimpse of the scalloped, plum-colored lace that edged the cup of her bra. 

"I...mean," she said, voice catching as he nuzzled the newly exposed skin, trusting the scrape of his late-evening stubble to distract her. "She didn't even a-ask if you saw yourself having kids one day. And there she was, ready with a list of baby names. A *list*, Darcy. An actual physical printed out list, that she had in her purse. That she...showed. You?" Her last word came out more as a squeak as he slid his hand up beneath the hem of her dress. 

He didn't allow his fingers to quest all the way to the tempting satin of her underwear. If he reached that spot and discovered that she was already wet, he didn't know if he'd be able to contain himself, and they were in a public place, even if that place was a dimly lit parking garage. Instead, he stroked a slow, elaborate pattern against the satin of her inner thigh, from the opening of a Tchaikovsky piece that had made her sigh and lean her head on his shoulder the first time he'd played it for her.

She turned her head away, exposing for him a spot high on her neck, just below her ear. Kiss it just right, and she'd melt into quivering, greedy incoherence. He skirted the edge of the spot with the tip of his tongue, then gently nipped at her earlobe, teeth clicking against one of the little grey pearls that had decorated her there so exquisitely this evening. 

He'd given her those pearls a couple weeks ago, and that night, she'd been the one to melt him with her smile. Her smile and the fact that she'd worn nothing but those pearls to bed with him. He'd learned early on that proper jewels, anything faceted and translucent, like diamonds or emeralds, sent her into a tailspin of concern over their relative financial situations. Pearls, though, she accepted graciously. Pearls, coral, carnelian to match her hair, jade. She looked particularly beautiful in jade. 

There was a lovely amber necklace he'd picked up on his last trip to St. Petersburg, what his sister had assured him over Skype was exactly the sort of 'conversation piece' Lizzie would 'go apeshit over'. But his sister wasn't the sort of family on his mind as he slid his hand back down to Lizzie's knee and circled his thumb over the barest prickle of soft hair he found there.

He found her mouth with his again, and his mind drifted, briefly, to the morning, a few days ago, when she'd allowed him the privilege of shaving her legs. She'd laughed at his shaky apology when he'd nicked her, when he'd stared wide-eyed at what had seemed like a frighteningly thick trickle of blood running down the back of her calf. "It's just a little blood," she'd said, wiping it away with a washcloth, but the little cut had welled up again. 

He'd lifted her leg and kissed the spot, then impulsively sucked at it. 

"All right, Edward," she'd said with a little hiccup of a laugh.

"I'm more of a Christian, wouldn't you say?"

That had sent her into a fit of giggles, and he'd lowered her leg back beneath the surface of the water. "First off," she'd said, pressing him back toward one wall of the sunken tub ('Massive freaking jaccuzzi, you mean') and climbing onto his lap. "Even at what I thought was your douchiest, you were never that douchey. Second, my goodness, William Darcy. Do you have a kinky side you haven't told me about?"

He did, as a matter of fact, although it in no way overlapped with the areas that interested the fictional Mr. Grey. But the truth was, he felt no need to tell her about the handful of interests they hadn't yet incorporated into their love life. She was fumbling that way on her own, naturally, and watching the delight with which discovered what pleased him was a pleasure he wasn't about to deny himself. Besides, he felt as though he hadn't yet begun to scratch the surface of *her* delightfully varied desires, and he wanted to luxuriate in that process as long as he could.

She took pleasure in describing those desires, in great detail, and far be it from him to deny her that. So as she'd settled over him, against him, slowly pressing against his length beneath the rippling surface of the tub, he'd just shrugged and rocked up against her, dangerously, deliciously close to slipping unsheathed into her naked depths. 

As they so often did, they'd gotten swept up in their kisses, and so, well, it would be untrue to say he hadn't *noticed* when the tip of his erection pressed inside her, but between the ambient temperature of the water and the way she clutched so tightly at his shoulders and the curl of her tongue against his and the noises--dear God, the noises--she'd been making, the slip was one of many, many things he'd felt at that moment. And that didn't even count the acrobatics of his heart. 

She'd frozen, though, and it'd taken him a couple seconds to realize why. She'd pulled back enough to look him in the eye and said, "Oops?"

He hadn't moved a muscle, and neither had she, except for the soft, internal flutter of her opening against him. She'd searched his face for something, and he'd been too busy fighting the screaming instinct to tighten his grip on her hips and sink home. He'd been attempting to unclench his jaw and ask if perhaps, if just for a moment, if maybe, God, *please*, when she'd risen back off of him again and stepped, dripping wet and gloriously naked from the tub. 

He'd taken her hand and the moment had been, if not forgotten, then at least shelved for the time being. 

"I mean," Lizzie said, drawing his attention back to the delights of the present, "who does that? Who gives a guy a list of baby names before he's knocked her daughter up, let alone gotten married? Who says you even see yourself having kids?"

An image of a Lizzie, glowing and curvy, their child swelling her belly, obliterated all of the thoughts in his head. He had to pause a moment to let the wave of giddy, irrational anticipation flood through him. He pressed his face to her shoulder and inhaled deeply, taking comfort in her scent. Another tableau occurred to him, Lizzie with a toddler in a bow tie squirming on her knee, himself kneeling and tying the little boy's shoe. That one brought the threat of tears to his eyes with a terrifying suddenness. 

"What is it?" she whispered. 

He realized his hand was shaking against her breast. "I don't," came the words in a rush, unbidden, "I don't see myself having children."

Beneath him, she froze. "Oh," she said in a small voice.

"No!" He pulled back and cupped her face, turned her and waited until she looked him in the eye. "That is not what I meant."

"I'm not, it's, I mean I didn't even--"

He pressed a thumb to her lips. "I'm sorry. What I meant to say was that I see you, Lizzie Bennet, having my children. Our children. Sometimes, I can't *stop* seeing it. You, with our baby at your breast. You, putting my hand on your belly so I can feel it kick. You, screaming bloody murder at me in the delivery room. I have had dreams about you being the mother of my children since before you and I kissed, and I--" he forced himself to take a breath. "I want children. And I want them with you. Do not doubt that for even one second."

He didn't know her eyebrows could climb that high. As he awaited her response, his heart pounded at his chest like it was trying to escape. Finally, she said, simply, "Oh."

He let go of her, sitting back into the driver's seat and gripping the wheel. Staring straight ahead, he said, "I have said too much. I apologize." 

"No," she said softly. "No, Will. Don't apologize."

"I've freaked you out," he said, twisting the key in the ignition, then pulling his own seat belt on. 

"Do I look freaked out?" 

He glanced over. "Honestly? A little, yes."

"I'm a little surprised, maybe, but I'm not freaked out. I just...didn't know you felt that way?"

And how do you feel? He thought. Can you imagine yourself pregnant? Does the thought of being a mother fill you with joy, dread, or indifference? Do you want *my* children? He didn't ask her any of these questions, because as much as the thought of a no scared him, the thought of her humoring him, or even making a joke in this moment scared him even more. 

He'd only ever heard her speak of children in the context of her mother's ... persistence about the subject. "I should not have brought it up," he said as he put the car into gear. "I said too much." 

"No," she said, putting her hand over his on the gear knob. "I'm glad you did. I'm glad I know. Just," she squeezed his hand. "Do *not* let my mother hear you talk like that, or she'll break into my house and replace my pill with Pez."

He forced himself to laugh at her joke, and was trying to think of something witty to say in return when, thankfully, she reached for the radio. 

*

Lizzie had worn a pair of gorgeous-but-impractical heels to the restaurant that evening, a gift from Jane on the occasion of Lizzie's twenty-sixth birthday a few months ago. After he shut the front door behind them and keyed the security system, he turned to find her stepping out of the heels, right there in the foyer. She curled and flexed her toes with a frown, and he was torn between two impulses.

One, to get down on one knee and cradle the foot, massaging the kinks from her arch. The other, to get down on one knee and beg her to do him the honor of becoming his wife. Before he could make up his mind, his cellphone buzzed against his thigh. Unfortunately, it was a call from an employee who was currently in China, in the middle of delicate negotiations with a skittish media conglomerate. 

"Take it," she said, fetching her heels from the floor. "I need a shower. I'll see you when you come to bed."

Nearly two hours later, he eased open the door to their bedroom to find her sprawled across their bed like a sexy, red-headed starfish, her iPad in danger of slipping off the side of the bed. When he slipped it from her grip, it woke up to a webpage. A webpage of baby names. He swallowed hard around the ache in his throat as he set it down on her nightstand, then without taking his eyes off her, without even *trying* to, he disrobed, slowly, until he was down to nothing but his boxer briefs.

He pulled the comforter up from the foot of the bed, not wanting to disturb her by trying to get her beneath the sheets, but as he settled in beside her, she stirred.

"Hey," she whispered. 

"Shhh." He kissed her shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

"Nuh-uh." She propped herself up on one elbow and blinked at him sleepily through a curtain of hair. "You're not gettin' out of it that easy, buster." 

He tucked her hair behind her ear and gently nudged her down to her back once more. "Out of what?" 

"Into what is more like it." She waggled her eyebrows, then stifled a yawn. "Into *me* that is."

"You're still half asleep," he said, kissing her nose. "In the morning."

She bit her lip and looked up at him through her lashes. "C'mon, just a quickie? Please?" She looped an arm around his neck and he let her pull him into a long, deep kiss that grew more purposeful with every passing moment. She kept tugging until he climbed atop her. Her knees rose up on either side of his hips, cradling him, and before he got a chance to pull his mouth from hers, her hand was snaking between them. 

She barely even bothered to push his shorts down, just pulled out his half hard cock. "There we go," she murmured against his mouth. "That's better," she said as he grew fully hard after only a handful of lazy strokes. "Now c'mere." 

"Just a second," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek before starting for the nightstand. 

"No." She tightened her legs around his hips and caught his neck, pulling him back. "No, just like this." She tugged at his cock, urging him up and forward until he brushed against her slick entrance. 

The naked sensation overwhelmed him for a moment, but he regained control long enough to look down and meet her gaze. It was clear from the look in her eyes that there was no need to ask if she was certain. Instead, he just leaned down to press a soft, almost chaste kiss to her parted lips. Then, with deliberate, tortuous slowness, he pushed into her, inch by gloriously bare inch. 

As he bottomed out, her eyes went almost cartoonishly wide. "Doesn't actually feel all that different," she said. 

"Speak for yourself." When she wiggled experimentally beneath him, around him, she dragged a groan and a couple of curses from him that he usually didn't spill in front of mixed company. 

"Say that again," she urged, wrapping her legs all the way around him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Her hips jerked up towards his in short little motions, but he had her pinned firmly to the mattress. 

"Say what?" he asked, torn between begging her to be still while he composed himself, and pulling out so he could do the same. 

"Motherfucker," she said with sweet smile. "Say that again."

He obeyed, and as she continued to wriggle beneath him, he pressed down more firmly with his hips. "Just, just hold on. Just give me a second."

She shook her head and squeezed him, inside, as she ran her hands up his back, then down to cup his ass and urge him forward. "Tomorrow," she said. "Take your time tomorrow. Tonight, what I want is for you to finish inside me."

"Jesus, Liz."

"That's right," she said, rolling beneath him now, and he didn't have a chance. He never even had a chance. "I want you to put your come as far," she snapped her hips up against him and he gave in, giving her short, fast, increasingly sharp thrusts that made her scratch at his back. "As far up inside me as you can, yeah. Like that." 

He groaned, half-embarrassed, half grateful the end was rushing up to meet him so quickly. Like this, he felt so exposed. He felt like she held his heart, god help him, his soul, in the palm of her hand. He felt raw and bloody, like he was leaking all over her, every hidden emotion he'd ever had for her pouring onto her skin. He may or may not have made a pathetic whimper at that point. He definitely did not care.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered against his ear as his thrusts grew jagged, "Maybe not tonight. Maybe not next week. But one of these days, William Darcy, I want you to put a baby in me. I do."

As he came, he shouted, hoarse and so loud it hurt his throat. It felt like it went on forever, like he might never stop spilling into her, continuing to thrust into the heat and the wetness of her depths. Depths he'd just filled with his seed. He couldn't help but think, as he slowly came back to himself, of just how close he was to her womb. 

He knew she was on the pill, scrupulously so. He knew there was virtually no chance that any of the microscopic parts of himself he'd left behind would take root. That didn't mean that, just for a second, he couldn't dream. Gently, he eased out of her, and threw back the covers. 

She stared up at him, rosy-cheeked and grinning, obviously pleased with herself. He spread her legs a little further, and parted her lips, watching, rapt, as a small, white trickle leaked out from between those pretty, pink petals. Carefully, he caught it with a finger, and pushed it back inside. Then he bent down and kissed her belly, right over her heart, and finally, gave her a lingering kiss on the mouth, before flopping down to the bed beside her. 

"So," she said, rolling to face him. "Looks like I found a kink of yours." 

"If you wanna call it that."

She carded her fingers through his sweat dampened hair. "I meant what I said. I'm not ready now, but one day. Yeah."

"Yeah?" He caught her hand and brought it to her mouth, kissed her knuckles. 

"Yeah," she said softly. "I do."


End file.
